


Ocean, Moon

by Lemon Drop (quercus)



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-02-02
Updated: 2000-02-02
Packaged: 2017-12-04 13:31:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/711292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quercus/pseuds/Lemon%20Drop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first day home afterwards was really weird.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ocean, Moon

I got a Friends of the Library card at the university today. It was easy; I just paid forty dollars and they gave it to me. I could have gotten one because I am an alumnus, but. I dunno. I just wanted a regular card, the kind anybody can get. 

What was cool was that Jim came with me and got one, too. Like he'll use it, I know. But it was symbolic. Not that Jim would ever acknowledge that. He just said, Hey, Chief. Ya never know, I might need one on a case. 

I had to look down at the card I was filling out, blink my eyes a bit. The librarian was nice about it and backed away a bit, pretending to file some papers. I swallowed a couple times and then nodded my head and said, Yeah. Ya never know. Then we both filled out the cards. 

Jim had to write a check for eighty dollars, because I still didn't have any money. 

A couple weeks after it happened, I went to talk to the Financial Aid Office at Rainier, to figure out what I was going to do about all my student loans. I learned that I could consolidate them. If I stretched them out for thirty years, I'd have to pay almost five hundred dollars a month. That's not so bad, well, it wouldn't be so bad if I had any income. I can defer them for a total of thirty-six months, so I made arrangements to defer them until after the academy, when I start work. It'll still be really tight; starting pay for a rookie is pretty low in Cascade, but as long as I'm living with Jim, I can afford it. 

Of course, that means he's kinda stuck with me for a while. 

Before I went to the Financial Aid Office, I'd petitioned the Registrar's Office for a retroactive withdrawal from my dissertation writing class. That was pretty simple; I just filled out a form and explained why. I wrote that I'd fabricated my research and was permanently withdrawing from the university. The lady at the counter read it and then told me it wasn't too late for a total withdrawal from the university, and that I wouldn't have to give any justification. So she tore up the petition and we did that instead. She even made arrangements to have the tuition refunded to the Financial Aid Office. 

Occasionally when I'm on campus I see people I know. Usually I don't; I try to go late in the afternoon, so only the staff are left. Students and faculty tend to bail early. Once I saw a former instructor. I thought she recognized me as a student but nothing more, until she gave a little doubletake. She stared at me for just a few seconds and then dropped her head. I think she was embarrassed. I was embarrassed. 

For a long time after it happened, I wouldn't go on campus. Jim cleaned out my office for me. I didn't ask him to; he just did it. One day he came home with all these boxes. I was in my room with the doors shut. He knocked. He's really polite about things like that, not barging in and all, even though he can hear everything that's going on. Like crying. I was, uh, crying a little that afternoon. He never said anything about it, although sometimes when he catches me he'll put his hand on the back of my neck. Just slide it under my hair and hold me there, maybe rub a little, like a massage. So many times I've wanted to lean against him and cry, just cry and cry and cry. I never did, though. I didn't want to embarrass him. 

Anyway, he knocked and I wiped my face and blew my nose and said come in, and he did, with an enormous box of stuff from the university. He brought up four more, then he carried some directly into the basement. I still haven't gone through them. I think I know what's in them: all the sentinel research. 

Anyway, like I said, I didn't go on campus for a long time after it happened. The idea -- I don't know. It was upsetting, I can say that. Kind of frightening, because I didn't know what would happen. I could imagine being stoned by angry students. I was also ashamed, as if I really had committed fraud. Getting up in front of those cameras, in front of the world, and saying I had almost made it true. Even though my mom, and Jim, and Simon knew otherwise, nobody else did. 

The first time I went back to campus was to get my stuff out of a locker in the gym. I used to work out there, go running on the track when it rained, and sometimes shower between classes. That was easy; the locker room is open all hours, so I went in really early. I didn't see anybody. I didn't even tell Jim I was going; I just went. It was sort of a test, I think; a little rite of passage for me, a transition from college to -- to whatever's next. 

I thought I'd get a lot of calls from people, former students and teachers especially, but I didn't. Or maybe I did and Jim didn't let me know about it. I've never asked, although I might sometime. But only a few called, and although some of them were a little upset with me, nobody was really horrible. 

But those were the people with my home phone number; living with a cop, I'm not allowed to give it out to a lot of people. More had my cell phone number, but that phone disappeared for a couple weeks. Jim said he found it on the floor of the truck and yelled at me for leaving it there. But I think he hid it. 

The first day home afterwards was really weird. I heard Jim's alarm go off at the usual time. Even though he was using a cane, he was working, catching up with paperwork. I heard him thump down the stairs, unusually graceless. Finkelman was back as Acting Captain, so he had to get in on time. I heard him come to the closed doors of my room, but he didn't knock, just stood there. 

When he left, I got up and made tea but went right back to bed. I pretty much stayed in bed the rest of that day, just drinking tea and napping. I watched a couple videos: Blade Runner, the one without the narration, and Apartment Zero. I had lunch on the balcony and watched the harbor. My mom had left the night before; she was still upset about everything. She went to Bali and I went to bed. 

I was still in bed when Jim got home, on short hours because of his injury. This time I'd left the doors open, though, so he stood in the doorway and watched me. I rolled onto my side and said, Hey. He nodded and held out a bag he was holding. I said, if those are Wonderburgers, I'll marry you, and he smiled and said, I get to pick out the rings. 

The second day home was pretty much the same, except I watched some videos I'd taken of Jim for my research. He'd forgotten those I guess. I cried a lot that day, really cried, like I haven't for years. I figured I should cry early so my eyes wouldn't be red when Jim got home, but once I started, I couldn't really stop. The grief and loss would wash over me like a wave; they were physical, a crushing weight on my back, a ball of lead in my stomach, a heavy pressure on my heart. I kept reminding myself that I'd feel better in time. I told myself it was okay to feel bad, because something really bad had happened to me. 

When Jim came home I was back in bed, but I'd closed the doors. I had stopped crying, but still felt right on the verge. I didn't want him to say something and. Well, I didn't want to be embarrassed by him. I wanted him to admire me. 

He puttered around for a while, but after thirty or so minutes, knocked on my door and called, Hey, Chief? Thought I'd fix spaghetti for dinner. I bought garlic bread and one of those premixed Caesar salads. How bout you get up in five? 

My throat closed up and I felt the tears start again. He was being so fucking nice. After everything we'd gone through. Then I heard the door start to open, so I rolled away, to face the wall. I knew he'd know I wasn't sleeping, but he might cut me some slack and pretend to think I was. 

Instead he put his hand on my back and gently shook. I made this little noise, a sort of gasping sound, and he knelt by the side of my bed and slowly pulled me onto my back. Jesus. I was so embarrassed. My eyes were swollen, my nose red, and I could feel my lips tremble. I sniffed and tried to smile. 

Jim looked at me in that serious and solemn way he has. I never know what he'll say when he looks like that. Sometimes he'll be a goofball, but this time he was in earnest when he said, Everything will be okay, Blair. I promise. You have to trust me. I know things are really tough right now, but I want you to believe me: everything will be all right. He looked really hard at me; I suppose he was judging whether or not I believed him. Something must have satisfied him, because he struggled to his feet and said, Dinner in a few, bud. 

The third day I made an effort and got up to fix breakfast with Jim. I made eggs and toast, like the very first morning after I moved in. I still felt fragile but the normality of being up too early, drinking coffee, wiping sleep out of my eyes really helped. Jim was quiet, but he's always quiet in the morning, so it really was like any other morning. Before. 

I cleaned my room, well, kind of, I stuck more stuff in boxes, washed the sheets and dirty clothes. Even Jim's. It took a long time, it took all day. But I had the time, now. I had plenty of time. 

A few minutes before the press conference, I had felt calm. Clear. It was as though everything that had come before had been leading to that moment. All my work, my studying, my years in school, my travels, everything was leading to the moment I stood before that bank of microphones and the cameras. 

Standing in the kitchen washing breakfast dishes, I remembered that moment, that calm. A far cry from how I felt now. Although it was getting better. I got up now in the mornings, and usually didn't go back to bed. I'd fix breakfast, wash up, do some housework. Jim had given me his ATM card, so I did the shopping, too; nearly everyday, so we always had fresh fruit and vegetables. 

I got into cooking, too, really seriously. Dragged out dusty cookbooks different girlfriends had given me over the years; I had three copies of Laurel's Kitchen and two of Recipes for a Small Planet. Bought yeast on one of my daily forays and started making bread, sourdough pancakes, orange-and-vanilla crescent rolls. 

And I washed dishes. All the time. We never had a dirty dish. It was starting to develop into a little neurosis; I'd watch Jim eat or drink something, just waiting for him to finish so I could wash up. Gave me a sense of accomplishment and completion. Sometimes Jim would tease me, set down a glass when there was still a drop or two inside. I'd grab it and he'd yell, Hey, hey, slow down there, Tex, and lemme finish that. Then he'd laugh like hell. 

One time he did talk to me seriously about it. Sat next to me on the couch, so close I could feel the heat pour off his big body, and put his hand on my shoulder. Blair, we need to talk about your dishwashing compulsion. 

I jumped up and started pacing. 

Little obsessive-compulsive are we? he asked, but I ignored him. 

Come on, Chief. Talk to me. 

I went out onto the balcony. It was midday on a Saturday, a light drizzle over the city. People were still out; if you wait for it to stop raining in Cascade before you go out, you'll never get out. Jim came up behind me, the way he does, not touching me but deep in my personal space. Talk to me, he said. 

I shrugged. What's to say? If washing dishes makes me feel better, I should wash dishes already. 

He turned me around so I faced him and not the harbor. Once again I had the compulsion to rest against him, just give myself up to his care and comfort. But after everything that had happened, I didn't trust him enough. Or myself. We both did stupid things and we both did bad things. We hurt each other. 

I'll try to stop, Jim, I promised him. He studied me closely and then nodded. He did that all the time anymore: looked at me intently. As if he could see something that no one else would. 

I started to read fiction again, for fun. I'd been in school my entire life and usually read fiction only because it was required for a class. I still had a lot of those books, but I turned to Jim's collection instead. I started reading Kerouac, an anthology of science fiction short stories, Jane Austen, just because they were in the bookcase. I bought Stephen King because he was at the checkout stands in the grocery stores. When my anthropology journals arrived, I hid them in the back of my closet. 

One of the bad things that happened to me after it was that I couldn't go to the station anymore. After Simon had announced that I was going to the academy, he took me aside and explained that until the ruckus died down, I needed to stay out of sight. He was nice about it, didn't yell or anything, but I could see he was right. Joel hugged me before I left, and the other guys were nice to me, shook my hand, slapped me on the back, smiled at me. And then Jim took Naomi and me home and I didn't go back for four months. 

When it was Jim's turn for poker night, I saw everybody. At the monthly birthday parties held at Senor Murphy's, I saw them. A retired Major Crimes detective passed away and at his funeral I saw them. They were still nice to me, and still shook my hand, but that was pretty much it. 

Joel asked me out to lunch a couple times; once just before I started the academy and again a little later. He ate with a vengeance the way he always did, but afterwards we walked a bit, so he could digest. Like Jim, he really looked at me, really studied me. I liked Joel a lot for that. 

But the people I'd known at the university disappeared from my life as completely as if aliens had abducted them. Another grad student, Sean Riley, had been on a couple digs with me, we used to eat lunch together a few times a month: gone. Christine Hong, a grad student in Asian Studies and an old girlfriend become friend: gone. Nathan Bettenburg, an instructor I'd had a dozen years ago who'd helped me with artifacts I'd found when I worked the storeroom of the university museum: gone. 

The worst thing that happened was when I went to a health food store near school to get some echinacea tea. I saw two students of mine, pretty girls I'd noticed early in that semester, and they saw me. They put their shocked heads together and whispered and giggled while watching me shop. I smiled and nodded at them and they giggled even harder. Trying to keep my head up, I grabbed the box of tea and hurried to the cashier. I heard their laughter all the way home. 

I went back to bed that day. 

One gray and rainy afternoon there was a knock on the loft's door. I'd been cleaning the bathroom, so my sweaty hair was pulled back and I had rubber gloves on. When I unlocked and opened the front door, there was one of my favorite teachers, dripping in the hallway. Wordlessly I held the door wider and invited him in, leaving to grab a couple towels. Equally wordless, he dried off while I made coffee. 

Finally, I turned to face him. He was old enough to be my dad but I'd always felt he was a youthful spirit. Today, the lines in his face looked deep and his eyes were sad. 

Jack, I started to say, but he shook his head. He had long curly hair like mine, only not as long and almost entirely gray. He also wore a gray beard with streaks of the red his hair must have been when he'd been my age. I carried so much respect and affection for Jack; I'd had a crush on him when I was younger, but he'd never abused our relationship. I wanted to hang my head before him; I wanted him to punish me. 

Finally, he put the towels on the table and said, I just wanted to see if you were okay. That brought tears to my eyes. I nodded, still not meeting his eyes. I'm not going to ask you why, Blair. Probably you don't even know why. And I don't think it's my place to offer you forgiveness. Nor is there any restitution you can ever make to the people you've hurt. 

I turned back to the counter, pulling down two mugs. 

Blair, look at me. 

I turned again automatically; I'd obeyed him for so many years, it'd become a habit. I wiped my eyes and looked at him. You believe you had good reason for what you did, I have no doubt, he continued. I've known you a long time, and I don't believe you have a malicious bone in your body. I never found you particularly avaricious, either. But you are single-minded, intense, passionate. I think that passion blinded you. 

When you can, you come talk to me, Blair. You have my home number. You call me and we'll talk about what happened and why you did it. And then we'll talk about your future. 

Thank you, Jack, I said hoarsely. After a moment, he said, That coffee smells good, so I poured us two cups and we sat at the kitchen table, talking about the recent find of the lost city of Conturmarca in Peru. Jack was going down there for a month. I felt my heart turn over in my chest, in envy and regret that I would never see Conturmarca, but just nodded and asked him what he thought of Gene Savoy's theories. That kept him going for another ninety minutes, two cups of coffee, and three of the orange-and-vanilla crescent rolls I'd made. 

Jim knew someone had been in the apartment when he came home; he got that intense look that means he's focusing on something at the molecular level. He said, You okay? And I said, Yeah. Jack Warmerdam stopped by. Jim froze and a look of anger crossed his face. What did he want? 

Down, tiger. He's okay. 

You've been crying. 

I had to turn my back on Jim then. Shit. That had been hours ago, and he could still tell. I suppose I should test that ability. 

I'm sorry, Blair. He stood at my back, that hovering thing he does, so close I can feel his body heat. It's very comforting, in an oppressive sort of way. 

Really, Jim. We just talked. He wasn't mean to me. You don't need to bite my head off. 

I heard Jim make a despairing sound, a sort of sigh and moan combined. I'm sorry, Blair, he said again, and I felt his hand slip under my hair again, that comforting gesture I was far too needy of. I nodded, and then rolled my head back, relaxing into his support. 

Three weeks into my enforced absence from Major Crimes and the university, I started to feel a little better. Simon had sent home with Jim information on the academy's curriculum, and Jim had bought me a bunch of new clothes. He said I couldn't wear flannel again until I was a detective; swore it was a state law. I had begun reading a couple criminology texts from Jim's bookcase. They were pretty interesting. I'd always loved working with Jim; that thin-blue-line bullshit I'd thrown at Simon really hadn't been bullshit. I loved riding along with Jim. 

It's just. 

Megan Connor was invited to join the Cascade PD on a more permanent basis and had accepted. There was talk of sending one of our, I mean Cascade's, detectives to Sidney for a year's exchange.. Rafe put in for it, which surprised me, but some guy in Homicide eventually got it. I thought it'd be cool if someday Jim and I could go, but didn't say anything. 

A few weeks after all that was settled, there was a party to celebrate Megan's acceptance, and Simon said it'd be okay for me to go. Megan had called me and asked me to, so I was happy to say yes. Everybody was there, all the support staff, and people from other offices as well, people Megan had worked with during the time she'd spent in Cascade. 

It was at a pretty nice place right on the water, and Major Crimes took over one of the rooms and half the patio. The food was great and tons of it; I ate steamed mussels and crab cakes and spaghetti with clam sauce. Jim did his best not to stick by my side, but whenever I looked up, he'd be watching me. Megan squeezed my arm at one point and said, Sandy, I'm so glad you'll be coming back to Major Crimes, so we can work together. I smiled at her in gratitude, then Henri said, Yeah, Hairboy, now you can run the errands instead of Rafe. Rafe just rolled his eyes and said, See, this is why I wanted to go to Australia. 

Lowest man on the totem pole, Simon growled at me, but I laughed. Like I haven't always been, man, I told him. He said, Don't you call me man; I'm your captain now. Yes, sir, captain, sir, I said. He stared at me while everybody laughed. I looked behind him and saw Jim smiling at me. He lifted his glass and I nodded back. 

That was a nice party, I said to Jim on the way home. He was driving; since I didn't have anyplace to go in the morning, I'd had a couple drinks. He said, Yeah. That Connor, she's a pistol. I'm glad she's staying, and don't you tell her I said that. 

Not to worry, I said, yawning. She wouldn't believe me even if I did. 

I looked at the calendar the next morning and realized that I'd been away from school for six weeks. I had a new routine: up with Jim, saw him off, did the housework, did the shopping, read, went for a run, showered, started dinner, welcomed Jim home. It was nice. A little domestic. A little June Cleaver. But I think I really really needed domestic just then. 

The academy was scheduled to start its next session in three weeks. I was pretty ready. I had the clothes and the books. I'd seen the doctor and gotten a physical and some immunizations. I'd gotten more serious about running and going to the gym. I was as ready as I'd ever be. 

And by waiting until this session, the brouhaha about Jim's senses had pretty much died down. I hadn't had a phone call in weeks. I wasn't hesitant to go out in public anymore. Simon really had managed this whole thing amazingly well. Especially since he'd been in a wheelchair the first few weeks of it. 

The only thing that wasn't clear to me was my relationship with Jim. He treated me with kid gloves, almost tenderly. Paternal. Fraternal. Or something else at times, the way he'd touch me. Look at me. 

He bought me stuff, too. CDs of songs he'd hear me sing along with. Books I'd talk about. Clothes -- lots of clothes. I talked to him about it, but he always brushed it off. I knew it was a way to make up for what had happened. Sa-a-a-andburg, he'd say with his stern face on. Just take 'em, okay? Put that CD on; I wanna hear that song again. That sweatshirt reminds me of the one that got torn when we were chasing those jerks through the warehouse, remember? I got tired of hearing you complain about it, and besides, the department owes you. 

So I took his gifts, and was grateful, really grateful for them, for him, even if he pissed me off. 

I was still puzzling about our relationship then. 

A week before my first day at the academy I got my hair cut. When I run, I pass a Quick Cuts, so every day I'd think about getting it done. It was only nine dollars for a hair cut. I didn't tell Jim; I was afraid he'd make a fuss or something, although that's ridiculous. Why would he care? 

I wore my hair down when I went in. The lady who cut it oohed and ahhed over it, very flattering, and called the other women over to look. My god, she said; men always have the best hair and eyelashes. Look at his, Janine. I could feel my face redden in their light of their attention. They were all about my mom's age. I expected them to pinch my cheeks. 

You can blow it straight or wear it curly, the lady told me. She sold me some gel to help with the frizz; it was more expensive than the haircut. Since it was Jim's money, I felt guilty, but I did need it. 

When Jim got home, I was making dinner as usual. I'd really gone out that night; roast chicken, mashed potatoes, gravy, homemade biscuits, steamed green beans, and an apple cobbler. The house smelled amazing even to me. He came bounding in, a huge smile on his face. I can smell this a block away, he started to say, but then he saw me. 

Well, I was wrong. It was a big deal to Jim. He did care. He did make a fuss. It was actually unpleasant for about five minutes. He dressed me down good, not making much sense, really, about how I owed it to him to warn him. Goddammit, Chief, he said again and again, Goddammit. 

Finally he quieted down and just studied me, his forehead creased and his mouth turned down. He walked into the kitchen and stood near me, again intruding into my personal space. He didn't seem to have that concept when it came to me. I never saw him do that to other people. But he stood about six inches from me, exaggerating the difference in our heights, staring down at me. 

Then his expression softened and he reached out to gingerly touch my neck. I remembered how he used to slide his hand under my hair and wondered if that gesture meant more than I was willing to admit to myself. He shook his head as he rubbed my neck. Are you going to get rid of the earrings, too? he asked. Only at school, I mean at the academy, I said. He nodded. He kept his hand on my neck for a couple minutes, staring intently at me, slowly turning me around. Then he put both hands on my shoulders and I felt his head lean against the back of mine. Shit, Blair, he said. I'm so fucking sorry. I tried to say something, but he gently shook me. Let me apologize for once, he said to the back of my head. I stared at the microwave, looking at our reflection in it. Then he patted me on the back and stepped away. 

The day before the academy started, I was wired. Pacing in the living room until Jim got home, then I moved it to my bedroom. We had been supposed to spend the day together but something broke in a case he was working on and he ended up with Simon. He got back around three, bearing bags of Thai food, enough for six of us. He called me out of my bedroom and I came, but reluctantly. Smells good, he said, and I haven't eaten since breakfast. Help me out here. 

I shook my head. What's wrong, Blair? I couldn't speak. Here I was: a washed up doctoral student, too old for the academy really, changing careers, changing my life. Man, I couldn't speak to him, I couldn't say anything. I suddenly ran out the door and headed up to the roof. 

He followed me, of course, carrying a couple beers. I sat on the chair we leave out there and watched the city. There was a thin overcast and it was glarey; I needed sunglasses. Without a word, Jim pulled them from a pocket and handed them to me. I laughed, kind of, and put them on. 

Thanks, I said after a while. He squatted next to me and took a swallow of beer. 

Wanna talk about it? 

Nah. Not really. 

You always tell me I should talk. 

Yeah, but you're you. He smacked me lightly on the leg at that, and I had to smile. 

Yeah, I would. I should. It's just so hard, Jim. Shit, I could feel my throat closing up again. I thought I was cried out; I'd cried enough to fill Salt Lake. I stared grimly out over the city and beyond, out into the harbor. 

Maybe I should talk, he said, and I turned to him in surprise. He had his sunglasses on, too, so I couldn't see his eyes. But he looked serious. He sat down on the roof, brushing gravel off his hands, then picked up the beer again. It's like this, Blair. This is all my fault. I fucked everything up so profoundly that I don't know how to make it right again. I know being a cop isn't what you want. I know. 

He stopped talking. I think his throat closed up a little, too. Shit. Now I'd made him cry. 

We were quiet for a long time. Seeing Jim in pain made me calm right down. That never failed; it was as though only one of us could be upset at a time, and his upset always took priority. The cloud cover got thicker and I remembered that rain was forecast. 

Jim's stomach growled, and we both laughed. Come on, I said. Let's dish up some pad thai. When we stood up, he put his hand on my neck again. He was warm and comforting. Without really thinking about it, I stepped nearer and put my arms around him. He pulled my head against his while his other arm went around my waist. I could feel his breath against my ear, a big gust as he sighed. 

We need some resolution, he said finally, surprising me yet again. I tried to pull away so I could look at him, but he wouldn't let me. You've lived with me too long, I told him, and he laughed. 

Yeah, maybe. But you, how you are, you're so fucking brave, Blair. You're braver than I could ever be. 

Bullshit, I told him. You've never given a rat's ass what people thought about you. I learned that from you. 

After a while, he said, Maybe we learned from each other. I nodded, rubbing against his face. I turned my head a little and leaned against his jaw. He sighed again and then brought his hand from the back of my neck around to my face, gently stroking my cheek. Listen to me, Blair. Just listen for a minute, don't be the motor mouth we all know and love. I had to smile at that. 

He was silent again for a long time, maybe a full minute. I could tell he was staring over my head out to sea; he could probably see the Aleutians with his eyesight. But I had a feeling he wasn't really seeing anything. At last he turned to me and surprised me for the third time that afternoon. He kissed me. 

A soft, hesitant, short-lived kiss against my temple, right above my right eyebrow. My heart hitched a little in surprise but I felt my face stretch into a satisfied smile. I suddenly realized that I'd been waiting for that. All these years, I'd been waiting for that. 

I tipped my head back a little. I'm used to kissing up; I tend to like tall women, although I'd never been with a woman as tall as Jim. But it was natural for me to tilt my head back and smile at him. He was a little red but smiled back. Then I kissed him, right on the mouth. A chaste kiss, but slow enough and long enough to invite more. He slowly tilted his head to one side and licked my lips. I immediately opened my mouth to him and began sucking on his tongue. He gave a little cry, of surprise and pleasure, I think, and then really kissed me. Kissed me with meaning. Kissed me with intent. Kissed me with everything I'd ever wanted from a kiss. 

When we stopped kissing, he whispered, Oh my god, oh my god, and I laughed a little. Yeah, I said. Ditto. Then I kissed him again, and this time my kiss was full of meaning and intent. There is no way he could misunderstand that kiss. 

Nor did he. Without stopping, he began to lead me toward and then down the stairs. We kissed down the hallway and into the loft. We kissed up the stairs and onto the bed. We never stopped kissing as we rolled around, first me on top, then him, then on our sides, and then me on top again, my hands on either side of his head, my knees on either side of his hips. We kissed right through our orgasm, and beyond it. We kissed until I fell off him, half asleep with pleasure. We kissed until the sun went down and our stomachs wouldn't stop growling. We kissed through dinner, feeding each other noodles and rice and spicy vegetables. We kissed cleaning up the kitchen, we kissed in the bathroom, we kissed brushing our teeth, we kissed climbing back up to bed, we kissed while he set the alarm for my first day at the academy, and we kissed as we lay back down in the messy bed. 

When I couldn't keep my eyes open anymore and curled in his arms, I kissed his shoulder; he kissed my forehead. Go to sleep, he whispered. 

I love you, I whispered back. 

I know, I know. I love you, too. 

You don't have to say that just because I did. 

Sandburg. Goddammit. He kissed me again, on the mouth, firmly. Shut up and go to sleep. 

I yawned. Okay. But you don't. 

But I do. 

Okay. 

We were quiet then. When I woke up, I went to the academy to learn how to be a cop. Jim dropped me off. Before I could get out of the truck, he grabbed my hand. I turned in the seat to look at him. I'm so proud of you, he said. I love you so much. I swallowed with difficulty. I wanted to kiss him right there, but I thought it might be dangerous, or at least embarrassing. But Jim leaned across the seat and kissed me lightly. I'll see you at four. 

Okay. 

Bye. 

Bye. 

I got out of the truck and watched it pull away. Then I went back to school. 

* * *

_The water flows,_  
But back into the sea;  
The moon sinks,  
But is ever in Heaven. 


End file.
